I Find You Disturbing
by Allthequirkythings
Summary: They're archenemies and polar opposites. But that doesn't mean they can't be friends...? A sour girl, a soiree, and a little too much passive-aggression. AtobeOC Mild language.


**I've had this one in my files for a while...since I've been working on lots of new stuff (yay...!?) I decided it's about time I clear out some of my stories and overcome my fear of criticism (I'm a chicken. Very sensitive chicken.) **

* * *

They say the day a king (like...Atobe Keigo) leaves his domain (for example...moves back to Europe), his kingdom will fall apart.

Hyotei Gakuen will become a medieval déjà vu: a plague like death sweeping the nations, and a gray, seemingly impoverished (but in reality filthy rich) society searching for a mite of order in the anarchy. A new king would have to be crowned eventually. Maybe they'd have to settle for that "tensai guy" who was always second-best. Or maybe even the soccer captain. He was pretty attractive, wasn't he? Why had they even cared about tennis anyway?

Only for Atobe. Comparable to King William who led England out of disaster in 1688. Except Keigo was never Dutch. Or died. Or solve a major religious dispute. But besides those little things, they were _basically_ the same person.

Of course, Atobe Keigo's father hadn't all at once decided to pick up and move the family, multitude of possessions and antiquities, and heart of his social corporation company. It had been a long-term decision.

Over the last three years, Atobe-sama senior had carefully contemplated the move from England- an economically-stable region where a steady stream of income had met his criteria- to Japan, where at first glance, had seemed a gold mine- a promising economy with a percentage of aristocrats eager to invest and pay into his business.

At second glance, it was not faring as well.

And between the constant disappointing behavior of his largest assets, the energy crisis, and his mother-in-law's ill health, it seemed like the wisest investment to move back to England.

Men like Atobe-sama senior had amazingly calculating minds like tipping scales: up versus down, pro versus con. There just wasn't another option anymore.

Of course the transition would be hard for Keigo: all young men had grown quite attached, naturally, to pursuits such as friendship and relationships. This investment in England, however, rose far beyond his son's own youthful whims, they both knew.

This family would stay together and depart as swiftly and graciously as guests- ties severed and neatly knotted into bows, hands shaken and swift kisses on the cheek in departure. Their stability was something more valuable than whimsical pursuits of happiness and indulgences.

Survival of the fittest: that was the Atobe legacy.

_~xOx~_

The Robinson family was as stereotypically English as a family with the last name Robinson could get.

Low tea was served in archaic fashion in the tea room each weekend to a room of dainty housewives in starched dresses. Said women belonged of the Female Society of the 17th Century of Historical Ladies Meeting, which really gathered to gossip in British accents about who was wearing what and the importance of a tight bodice.

The walls of the Robinson's airy home were covered in pastel roses, and doilies sat under basically anything they could sit upon. A picture-perfect staff of two maids, a butler, two chauffeurs, and the cook were never seen around the house unless called upon (or guests in need of impressing were present). The antique Austrian cuckoo clock quacked sternly where it squatted in the sitting room.

A perfect vision in the cult of society.

Framed noblemen and ladies glared at any guests through oil canvas. Even after living in this house for so long, Myles knew the house had eyes and ears- servant passages made their way through the walls, heavy curtains were kept drawn, there was a marble ballroom for Pete's sake.

Classy. Sophisticated. Intimidating. Outright terrifying.

And that was exactly the effect Victoria and Benjamin Robinson wanted.

Unfortunately for them, however, the same could not be said about their children.

Jeremiah Calvin Robinson had been on his way to a financial degree at Cambridge University. In the fall of his senior year in high school, he sprung the news like a loaded gun; the Peace Corps application form had been affirmed, he would take three years from college, and would be leaving for Botswana directly after receiving his diploma.

Of course his parents were devastated if not angry; what kind of son _volunteered_ for a living? But constant compliments of what a 'self-aware child' or 'generous boy' they had raised led them grudgingly to send Jeremiah off on his 'totally non-financially-positive soul trip'.

So it was Meryl who would be the quiescent, no-fuss child: the one who could sing and dance at the drop of the dime, who could look picture-perfect in pastel to fit the wallpaper yet stay as silent as the staff.

And she had. As hard as she could to stay quiet. For the last fifteen years.

_~xOx~_

_"Meryl Evelyn Robinson, you will stop this nonsense and do this fitting before the painters finish, God help me!"_

Myles sourly stepped out of her room. There were a lot of things she would've like to shout back down the stairs. _Don't call me Meryl. I behaved nicely through that hair appointment even though she drew blood. I would rather sit through fifteen consecutive history lessons than four hours of this soiree. _

But instead, she called: "Coming, Mother!"

This would be the third fitting this week for the biannual gala, and between the renovators, buzz of the flower and catering shop, constant smell of fresh paint in the air, and slippery polish applied every hour to the ballroom floor, she had hoped her mother would have forgotten about her dress.

Unfortunately for her, no such luck.

Myles plucked irritably at the rollers in her hair. The dance was in _a day. I don't need a dress rehearsal. Or to try on the same dress three times. Is that what a 'dress' rehearsal really is?_

"Miss Meryl?" Lynn-the-maid asked politely, dropping into a curtsy. "I have your mother's newest dress for you," she said in an irritatingly neutral voice. Lynn held up a black garment covered with plastic. "Would you like me to help-"

"That won't be necessary, Lynn," Myles grimaced. "But thank you."

_I've changed by myself since I was four, thank you. _

"Please tell my mother I'll be down shortly."

With a sweet 'yes miss,' she disappeared down the stairs.

"Tighter waist. We don't want her to look like an apple," Victoria commanded, hair wrapped up into a twist and length of classy pearls around her throat. "And lower that collar- she's not a nun, for God's sake. Though she certainly does not possess a particularly enviable... Perhaps you should raise it, on second thought."

Myles grimaced as the seamstress pricked her skin with pins, folding the black fabric tighter, tighter..._even tighter_ around her middle until she was sure she would be squeezed through like a banana.

Her mother's pager buzzed, and she threw Myles a look like 'stay girl', before departing swiftly with a flutter of her satin evening dress, already fitted to perfection like a sleek ebony glove.

The second the doors closed, the tension around her waist lessened.

She rubbed her sore middle. "Thanks Mindy," Myles sighed.

"No problem, _Miss Meryl,_" Mindy teased, expertly tucking the loose waist gently back and securing it with pins. "Your mother's in a mood this morning, ma'am. No surprise though; what with the fuss of the mix-up with the flowers and the delay on the redone doors in the ballroom, I wouldn't put it past her to want to make everything all neat and primped up for tomorrow evening."

"I don't see why she _needs _to," Meryl scoffed, undoing the rollers in her hair. "And is there anything you can do about this low collar?"

"Shows off your collarbones," Mindy smiled, though still taking the tape to the square hemline before sympathetically shaking her head. "Sorry, I'd need at least another foot of that fabric; and it's not cheap, I can tell you that."

"Ugh. I feel disgusting."

"You look nice, though," Mindy smiled.

_No, I don't look nice, _Meryl grumbled in her head.

"_You _look nice. You don't look like an apple, or a nun. I look like a black piece of asparagus." Myles put on an affronted face, tugging on a stubborn strand of hair that wouldn't unwind.

Mindy's mouth quirked upwards. "You're a flower, Myles. Just look." Her hands took the roller Myles was having trouble ripping out and gently unwrapped a perfect curl. It bobbed a bit past her shoulders. Mindy didn't curl her hair, Myles couldn't help but think. _She_ always looked nice.

Mindy Buckminster had a round face and a ginger bob of soft hair, always dressed in slacks with a tape measure around her neck, and possessed the kind of beauty that shone in her laughter and sincere smiles.

She herself wore a hideously showy dress with sleek straps that wrapped intricately across her open back (to distract from her slim but wide shoulders, her mother would nod fervently), rough dark fabric, and a skirt that flared up like a bell around her middle, defying gravity, and creating a halo around her calves. Her skin had been groomed, shaved, and exfoliated to a raw red that after a week had faded into creamy pale.

It felt disgusting. Maybe someone else could be satisfied by being a poster child, but not her. Especially not tomorrow night, when she would spend four hours posing in a seat at the sidelines, dancing with aristocratic boys who could ride horse back like Olympians but not crack a funny joke to save their lives.

And worse, the truth was, on this straight-line track of her life, she would marry one of them someday. Then have children who would follow the same straight-line track to nowhere.

"Mindy, I really don't want to go tomorrow night."

"Oh, Myles, I know, I know," she sighed, putting away her measuring tape and fiddling with the shoulders of her dress. "But it's a big night; I hear we have honored guests attending. Plus, I filched some crème brûlée after your mother's kitchen sampling." She mimed fainting. "Absolutely to die for."

"Oh, I will, no doubt," she cracked dryly.

"Head up, Miss. Maybe things could be different this year- just try."

_~xOx~_

The last thing Myles wanted to do was become the perfect girl her parents wanted. Her viewpoints were carefully thought out to directly conflict with theirs, but sometimes, the lines would inevitably cross.

In grades, for example, or taste in flowers, or sometimes in music. But the most irritating thing was friends. Being set up to be 'besties' at age seven was already enough to get Myles riled up and swear vengeance on her parents. But she couldn't, because Myles was a half decent person, and Josephine Lorelai Roads had turned out to be half decent too.

"My mom's making me wear a cupcake as a dress this year."

Josie laughed, silver hair glancing off her shoulder as she reached for her books. "If that's the case, I'll be a baguette. It's horrible." She closed her locker and frowned. "Satin, to the ankles, totally archaic...it's got a _corset _and everything!"

"I bet you'll look lovely," Myles couldn't help but smile.

Her friend would look great in a paper bag, and a custom-tailored Chanel satin gown was more than just a few steps up. Josie had a startling, sharp look to her face, though her features were dainty and polished like a pixi's. Stunning silver hair clashed brilliantly against her sunned skin, and the locks curled out and over her shoulders.

"Yeah, well...I guess that's better than- _whoa_, what the..."

As they rounded the corner to their classroom, they found it jammed with students and teachers waving their arms around frantically. Myles nudged a classmate who was jumping up and down to look over the heads.

"What is going on?" she managed to shout. "Is it the Queen or a fire drill?"

"Didn't you hear?" her peer squealed. "The _Atobes_ are back in town!"

She wasn't too far off; it was the self-acclaimed king.

Sure enough, through the hallway, reverberating across the marble was a single, unmistakable, totally pretentious, _totally familiar-_

_Snap_.

Hush fell. So did some peoples pants.

A low voice announced, "The king has returned."

And the world exploded into chaos.

Teachers pushed vainly against the students that flooded the corridor while simultaneously covering their ears from the screams of many hormonal teenage females. Myles found herself and Josie get washed around the corner as the mob surged forward.

"The _Atobes_..." Josie slid down the wall, her face fading into a starchy white. "Oh my God..._Keigo._"

"Oh my God," Myles echoed, as horrified as her friend was startled. "_Keigo._"

_~xOx~_

"_Delilah, dear, don't let a single strand of that Japanese air wrinkle your skin."_

_ "Oh, Victoria, I'll miss you and the girls."_

_ The two mothers embraced like teacups clinking together- cold and only out of courtesy. Whose courtesy, Myles had no idea: all she could think about was the kid next to her._

_ Not because for a ten-year-old he had cool hair, or was interestingly tall, or anything that her mother liked to point out. He had his fingers on his face like he was pushing up a pair of invisible glasses. Strange. Did it help him see better? Or stop headaches? Myles put her own fingers up like he did and looked around._

_Huh. It didn't do anything really, except limit her vision. _

"_What're you doing, dummy?"_

_She decided to let that pass. This time. Out of _courtesy.

"_Mirroring you. What are _you_ doing?"_

_Keigo snorted and folded his arms. "Nothing concerning you." _

_Myles frowned. "Fine."_

"_Fine."_

"Good._"_

"_Are we done yet?"_

"_Shut up."_

"_Dear, please quiet down," Victoria glared, guiding Atobe's mother onto the floral couched. "Why don't you and Keigo go play in your room?"_

_Myles crossed her arms. She had to deal with a drama monarch every day. Today she didn't need _two _of them._

"_No."_

_Victoria stopped pouring tea and stared at her daughter. Myles peered defiantly...at the lace lining her mother's collar._

"_What was that?"_

"_No, _thank you_."_

"_Young lady, you'll treat your guests like a _proper _hostess," Victoria scowled. _

_Delilah bit her lip and smoothed out her blue cotton skirt. "Look, Victoria, it's quite alright. My son-"_

"_-is polite, something my daughter needs to be, Delilah," her mother scoffed, and Myles turned pink in indignation. "Meryl, apologize."_

"_Your name is Meryl?" Keigo smirked._

"_Shut up."_

_~xOx~_

Myles crossed her arms and watched her friend wash her face and reapply her makeup in the bathroom.

"This is surreal. I mean...remember the last time we saw him? Three years, I think." Josie suddenly capped up her eyeliner case. "My God...what if he got a Japanese _lady friend_?"

"If so, I'm sorry for _her_," Myles sniffed. "And in awe. How she survives even_ two minutes _with thategoistical, narcissistic..."

"I agree," Josie said unconvincingly. Then she rolled her eyes. "But Keigo's...so..._oh my gosh_. It's strange. Myles, do I look okay?"

"Lovely," Myles responded automatically. Josie had tied her wavy hair into a braid that wound across her head and trickled down one side. For some reason, that made Myles a bit self-conscious; her own features, unlike her friend's, were all dark hair, soft corners, and round green eyes. She was pretty in her own right, but unlike Josie, Myles didn't give a crap about impressing Keigo. She wasn't going to change what she looked like just to appeal to a pompous, arrogant...albeit extremely..._suitable _guy like him...

Oh, and she didn't like him.

Yeah.

_ Damn him. _

Right.

_~xOx~_

Some people prided themselves on being kind and nurturing, but Myles prided herself on being honest. Sometimes her honesty turned into rudeness, because being classy was not her forte. She didn't play the social game like her peers, but no one seemed to mind, because she was still smart and good-looking and rich and clever.

But not as much so as Atobe Keigo.

How the kid even had time to study between tennis, fan girls, and the daily pampering of his ego, Myles didn't know. What she _did _know, however, was that she was not looking forward to the 'special guests' at the soiree tomorrow night. And she wasn't usually particularly competitive, _but..._

_How dare that pompous egotist take her place on the Honors List?_

_~xOx~_

Myles dropped her book bag onto her dining room table, dragged out a chair, and collapsed into it. Today had not been a good day. First, she found out her childhood enemy had come back from Japan, she had another hair appointment in an hour, her mother would find some reason to be pissed off at her, and even though it was totally beyond Keigo's control, it was drizzling outside.

She hated gray skies.

Almost as much as white lies.

And rhyming.

And irony.

"Meryl, is that you?"

Myles started. Her mother wasn't usually home this time of day, and when she was, usually wouldn't bother greeting her daughter.

"Hi, Mom," she ventured. "What's going on?"

Victoria scoffed and held out a hand. "Come into the kitchen, dear, nothing's wrong."

Myles peered at her mother's shifting eyes dubiously, but took her hand anyway. Her fingers brushed the fabric of her rough black dress. It felt familiar, like her Nana's, who was the one who always held her hand when she was smaller while her parents were busy.

"How was your day?"

"Um...good? I guess."

Myles almost smiled, then grit her teeth. Whatever was causing this rare good mood in her mother, she didn't know. But her mother would find out about her exclusion from the Honors List sooner or later, and maybe a positive mood would cancel out negative news, so...

"Hey, Mom? Um...today, I was-"

"-kicked off the Honors List?"

Myles' eyes widened. She couldn't sense any hint of anger besides her grip tightening on her hand and lips pursing. "How'd you know?"

"Keigo told me."

"...Oh."

_Damn him._

The kitchen was in the recesses of the house. Polished wood gave way to new appliances. Antoine-the-cook was boiling something over the stove, and Lynn and Phoebe ran around doing seemingly random chores: dusting (vases, pronounced with a _z_), beating (antique) rugs, slipping coasters under (crystal glass) drinks. It was all very showy...and understandable, because there were guests present in need of impressing.

At the bar counter sat Delilah, looking very uncomfortable declining offers of refreshments. Next to her was the self-proclaimed king, Atobe Keigo, wearing a look like this house was his, and this fuss was all for him (which it was). And he knew it, and he didn't even enjoy it, because he was above it all. At least Myles _tried _to enjoy luxury, but she didn't like it. Why have other people do what she could do for herself? He, however, showed no signs of hesitation snapping his fingers and watching Lynn hurry to refill his already full drink with a pitcher on the table under his elbow an easy reach away.

_Damn him. _

"Say hello, dear," Victoria smiled, jiggling her hand.

"Hello," Myles said.

She shook her hand out of her mother's.

"Oh, dear, how nice to see you again," Delilah shuffled out of the stool with difficulty. Nothing seemed different about the woman: same meek demeanor, same wispy tan hair. But there was a noticeable curve to her once-slim stomach.

"You too, Aunt Delilah," Myles greeted politely. She couldn't help but grin. "You're looking well."

The woman automatically placed a hand on her belly, clothed in floral print. She smiled and absentmindedly patted her middle. "I _am _pregnant, dear, not oblivious. You've met my son?"

_Unfortunately._

"Depends. I know I've met at least one," Myles poked.

Delilah gave a delighted laugh, and Myles immediately regretted being sincere. Victoria looked satisfied. It was never a sign things were going well when her mother approved. But she liked Ms. Delilah very much, and felt that she was someone who could use some laughter in her life instead of a husband who was never home and a son like _Keigo._

"What a charming girl. Keigo, say hello to Meryl."

He glanced up as if there were nothing more interesting in the world than his cuticles.

Myles realized that she'd only ever seen him outside of school or parties once, when they were young. She hadn't noticed it before, but his eyes were a clear, metal sort of color. It was nice to see him outside of a gaudy environment that maybe made both of them feel pressured into putting up fronts. Her mouth pulled up into a smile. It was nice to see him again.

"Your name is Meryl?" he drawled in a lazy but self-assured tone, as if he knew the very universe was clinging onto every word. And it might as well have been, and he knew it, and he _liked it_.

_Damn him._

_~xOx~_

If anyone could walk down a street a few blocks from the Robinson mansion, they'd see a boy, walking like the sidewalk moved under his feet and not the other way around. He'd seem so cool, like a movie star (complete with the expensive sunglasses, even though it was overcast outside, because movie stars could pull it off without looking like douche-bags).

Exactly three strides in front of him was a girl, back straight and proper and mustering dignity with her chin high, because her mother insisted she be escorted to her hair appointment, even though there were three town cars in the basement and a freaking stretch limo humming outside. But she was a _lady_, and she would do what good ladies always did: walk like a businesswoman and keep her chin up.

And then if anyone went closer, they'd hear pieces of the strangest conversation:

"I don't need an _escort_, Keigo. I'm not a child."

"Stop talking, child. You're disturbing Ore-sama's quiet."

"You know what? You're disturbing_ me_. Like, _a lot_."

"Aren't you the eloquent one?"

"A compliment by Atobe Keigo. Perhaps the whole world should faint, because the world revolves around every maniac like him."

There was a silence of five sidewalk squares that he didn't respond. Myles bit her lip. Maybe he really did have a heart. Maybe he was sensitive- no, Myles hadn't been _mean_- Atobe might just be a secret pussy. She whirled around...

...to nearly whack him in the face with her umbrella.

He rolled his eyes and plucked it out of her hand.

"Don't get excited, plebian. Ore-sama does not concern himself with the rain."

Sure enough, droplets pattered down between their feet as they started walking again: her leather boots brushing his trousers with every step.

"You'll have to keep up," he sniffed as they paused to cross the street. "And you walk like a horse when you splash puddles everywhere. It's horribly drenching."

"It's _raining_."

"It's disturbing."

"The _weather?_"

"You."

"Hm. _Eloquent much?_"

"And now we see she's the creative type too."

Myles fumed (like all good ladies: silently) all the way into the hair salon, paused her scowling to politely name her reservation, and then angrily flipped through magazines as that idiot Keigo posed in a waiting chair like he just materialized out of a page himself.

"Meryl Robinson?" A woman called as Myles mowed through some self-help magazine about letting go of anger. "This way please." The woman had polished blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. It swished like a horse's tail when she turned around to escort Myles to the washing station. She treaded lightly, not disturbing a single hair lying cut on the ground.

_I do _not _walk like a horse._

_~xOx~ _

"So...just the usual trim, then?" Lulu asked. The shirt under her coat smock read _Calvin Klein_. That was the middle name Jeremiah went by now- _Cal_.

She was about to give a resigned nod...then bit her lip to cover a smile.

The hairdresser combed out Myles' long hair...her _mother's _long hair. It wasn't _ladylike _to have it any other way. She couldn't join the Peace Corps like her brother, but maybe this was a step to the next best thing.

"_Actually..._"

_~xOx~_

There were some things Myles desperately wished she could erase.

The name Meryl from her birth certificate.

Her mother's dark hair from her own head.

The hours spent on that rainy summer watching horror marathons on TV.

The Honors List in the back of the classroom that now so gapingly lacked her name.

The memory of dinner that night, because it was embarrassing, horrifying, and hilarious...if you thought embarrassing and horrifying things were hilarious. If so, you're _sick_.

_~xOx~_

_Myles felt sick._

The euphoria she'd experienced at the salon had vanished, along with five inches of thick black hair. Silverware scraped on the plates- she kept her salad fork floating politely as not to make screeches. If her mother noticed, she gave no recognition. Myles glanced up at the chandelier. _The one dinner I act like a lady and she doesn't even look._

She honestly didn't understand what the big deal was. Hair grew back, right? It wasn't that it looked _bad_- Lulu at the salon did a good job. It was an asymmetrical cut, sweeping her left shoulder in the front and barely touching her collar in the back. A diagonal slash of thick bangs curled into her face. Myles thought it looked nice.

And though she tried very hard to ignore the guilt inside, Myles couldn't help but feel bad for cutting her hair. It was unnecessarily selfish to rebel, like a spoiled brat. Maybe Keigo was right- she _was _a child. Delilah and Keigo were over for dinner (which explained why they were there for refreshments earlier) as Mr. Atobe was still in Japan in the process of moving his business.

Ideally, Myles would've performed a less-permanent show of her dissent, and certainly not in front of an audience.

She just wanted to show the world that Myles- _not Meryl_- Robinson was _not _her mother's daughter. Victoria didn't necessarily deserve it like that, but she did deserve it eventually. Because of shame. Myles was ashamed of her mother being ashamed of her. But she also got a strange satisfaction that helped the bitter feeling go down. _A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down_. Nana was her childhood Mary Poppins because her mother was always busy shopping or partying or complaining about how undesirable her children were.

_Nana, look at me now._

"Your hair looks lovely, Meryl," her father commented. He took a spoonful of soup, oblivious to his wife's horrified expression, Delilah's mouth suddenly occupied with bread sticks, Keigo's familiar smirk directed this time at her, amusement and perhaps even lauding in his iron colored eyes.

Myles couldn't help but sit a bit taller.

"Thanks, Daddy."

And then finally, after a few more bowls of goulash and Myles implementing every single tactic to keep herself from snapping from the tension, they retired to the sitting room. To her irritation, Keigo immediately draped himself over her favorite single chair- her favorite, because that meant she wouldn't have to sit on a couch with her parents, or be stared at by the Madonna portrait with little fat naked babies.

"Delilah, let me show you the ballroom- renovations will be finished early tomorrow in time for our little get-together..."

_High-end party_..., Myles corrected in her head.

"...we've just had a little work done..."

_...chandelier replaced, varnish recoated, piano tuned, band fired and rehired twice..._

She started, realizing her mother's voice was fading. They disappeared down the hall. Unfortunately, not _all _of them could disappear.

Keigo, glancing up at her in disinterest and not bothering to get up to see the new ballroom, pulled out his phone. Myles sat very, very straight and pursed her lips. If she got up now she'd seem like such a fool that spaced out. On the other hand, the silence was deafening, but conversation with him was extremely difficult.

The antique clock rang eight.

She opened her mouth to say something- but there really wasn't anything she wanted to say. Myles crossed her arms and collapsed back onto the couch. There was _nothing _she wanted to say to that idiot.

Mouth closed.

But he really wasn't bad...

Mouth open.

Wait- _what was she saying?_

Mouth closed.

The painted Madonna snickered where she posed on the wall.

Open.

"So how was your first day back?" Myles burst.

He glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Close your mouth. We're not goldfish."

Mouth closed.

Open: "_Hey!_"

Keigo smirked: that look where he closed his eyes and brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Other girls fainted and swooned watching him pose like that. Myles tried it before. It was all just another show.

"Ore-sama finds your lack of enthusiasm for him...disturbing."

Then she did what every other good lady did. She asked in an affronted tone, "_Excuse me?_"

Keigo rolled his eyes and put down his phone. "Honestly. It'll already be difficult to dance together tomorrow night, let alone be a good couple when you can't hear a single thing I say."

"_Excuse me?_" she repeated. Myles thought _Keigo_, a high-society raised guy would know best: when a lady said 'excuse me,' she didn't want a clarification. It was a second-chance to change what you said.

"You will have the honor of me as your escort tomorrow," he continued, eyes back on the phone again. "Try and keep up, honestly."

Myles tried to wrap her head around that- it was a compliment sandwich: two compliments with something bitter in between. _If _a date with Atobe Keigo was a _compliment_...

For some reason that made her feel really weird.

"I- no," she decided firmly. "No, _thank you_. I was going with a friend."

He looked amused. "Joselyn?"

"_Josephine. _Yes."

"Ah." He draped his arm over the back of the chair. "Could she be the one Richard Wright was bragging about escorting? The 'sexy silver girl' from his chemistry class?" Keigo raised an eyebrow, and she swore he was _enjoying _tormenting her. "Or am I mistaken?"

_Damn him_.

"I'd rather go alone," Myles repeated, slightly annoyed. Josie told her _everything_- even called her at four in the morning one time to describe in great detail her dream involving Atobe Keigo asking her out.

_It seems that nightmares do come true._

He sighed and straightened himself in the chair. "Well, it can't be helped."

"I'm very flattered," she assured him, weird feeling still bubbling in her stomach.

"Don't flatter yourself," he snorted. Myles blinked as her wobbly little bubble popped. "Ore-sama can't be without a date. He'd be inundated by the less-suitable of society."

After the sheer audacity of that statement lost its edge, Myles could find herself understanding. When she did some insane empathy thinking, it made sense...a twisted sense, but still sense. Apparently, Atobe Keigo was _irresistible_. On one level she was flattered that he considered her someone above the rest who didn't cling to him. On another level, she was pissed off.

Because he didn't _actually _ask her as a real date.

Not that she wanted that.

And he _wasn't_ being sincere.

Not that she wanted that _either_.

All those things mixed with the realization that her short hair was now just _another _piece ripped out of the Robinson family parchment felt incredibly sour in Myles' mouth. Her mother liked to say Meryl was never going to amount to much, never find a suitable spouse, just like Jeremiah. She couldn't even land a _date_, Myles had heard her mother laugh over tea just last week. Myles always tried hard to prove her mother wrong, but to no avail. And chances to prove her wrong were rare.

Some things required sacrifice.

"Okay," Myles said.

"Excuse me?" Keigo raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth already lifted in amusement. "What was that, plebian?"

"Like _hell_ I'm saying it again," Myles drew herself up haughtily. "You'll have to listen better if you're escorting _me_ tomorrow night."

_~xOx~_

The dress was never quite the same each time she saw it.

The first was a prototype in the shop a month ago: a rough black tea dress. The second was her fitting with Mindy, the third just last week. Her mother had the dress shortened, lengthened, cut, sewn, wrapped, and loosened each time.

Today, grudgingly, Myles had to say she chose well.

The collar was still a square, thick straps tightly drawing back and sewing into two thin crosses across her low open back. The fabric was different: soft taffeta instead of the starched material, so the skirt draped around her calves now instead of strung into a stiff ring. There was a tasteful slit in the dress too: just reaching her knee and rimmed with ribbon trim.

And the dress was dark green.

Myles liked it a lot.

"It brings out your eyes," Mindy chirped, hands on hips and admiring her handiwork. Today, she had pieces of chalk pushed into her hair that she used to mark, dusting her ginger strands black. "Your mother really chose well this time."

Suddenly, Myles realized that her mother had ordered this dress before the hair fiasco. Victoria would never choose colors for Myles' many dresses (dark was too dark for her skin, and light colors weren't classy, her mother would explain). And the fact that she let her daughter wear something against her better judgment- and in _public_- was something nice starting.

And then stopping, because of a haircut.

"Thanks, Mindy," she said around the lump in her throat. "You worked your magic. I wish you could come tonight. I have a _date_."

Mindy peeked out from behind Myles where she had been arranging her straps. "Who's the lucky boy?"

"Not sure if lucky or just plain desperate," Myles sighed. "But it's Atobe Keigo."

"_Atobe Keigo?_" Mindy gasped, any thoughts of her dress gone. "The Japanese one your mother calls a prodigy?"

"That's the one," Myles rolled her eyes. "But he's still taking _me_, so that questions exactly how _prodigious _he is."

"Then he's nothing short of a _genius_," Mindy teased. Her eyes softened as she ran a finger over Myles' slanted bangs. "You look absolutely lovely."

And Myles felt happy about what she looked like. She was thin and lithe, and the dress clung snugly around her middle. In all honesty, Myles wasn't usually blessed with clear-skin and wide eyes, but had the tools to change that. And in that way, Meryl Robinson _was _blessed to have that opportunity to fix and change herself.

But never padding. Meryl didn't do padding.

_Myles_, however, disliked wearing makeup and gunk on her face. She could handle a _little_- come on, she wasa _girl_- but disliked being a canvas for the many for-hire professionals Victoria had on speed dial next to the hairdresser and fire department.

What she didn't see was how similar she and her mother really were- Mindy could notice, Josie had the class not to point it out, and Atobe could see it even without Insight.

Even though she was blunt, humble Myles, she still always strove to be sincere and kind to others, because she, like her mother, genuinely cared for people. But that didn't mean she was a softie: Myles always tried to be ladylike, demand respect, and keep a haughty and dignified air. It was easy to see Victoria and Meryl were related in the way they tilted their chins up towards life's hardships. Renaissance Robinson women.

Somewhere inside, sometimes, Myles liked that.

_But_ she'd still never do padding.

Myles never liked her mother's parties.

The High Society ladies were always early and adored poking 'fun' at Meryl's dress, shoes, everything. They'd give her hell about her new haircut...

So that was why she was here, sitting at the counter, spooning no-judgment crème brulee carefully into her lined lips as hired waiters slid around with full platters of little cheeses and breads and champagnes.

Knowing, Josie, it'd be a full half-an-hour before her family arrived (they liked to make an entrance, and especially now, when Josie was dating the incredibly rich Richard Wright (it so worked!), and Myles' plan was to stave off any contact with that bastard Keigo for as long as possible- preferably a few years at the least.

Myles sighed.

She had lied to herself: she actually really loved her mother's parties. What could she say? She was Meryl-the-cool-hostess- the one who smuggled extra sweets from the kitchen so nobody had to feel fat going up to the food table; everybody's girl who talked to the single girls sitting at the sidelines. That was a trait she shared with Cal: a love for people. They shared that with Victoria too, but not for the same reasons. Her mother was so obsessed with social standing, she helped others to help herself.

That was why Meryl was so glum and rather pissed off right now. In the good old days, Myles didn't have to worry about a date and expectations (well...breakingexpectations). Did that mean she was over thinking her social life and in trying to avoid it, she was only becoming more like her mother?

"Ma'am?" Atoine-the-cook asked, looking quite flustered with party preparations. "I apologize, but do you think you could exit the kitchen? We're having a big mess with the catering."

With a start, Myles realized the marble countertops were stacked high with large pastry boxes, a purposeful berth around where she sat. They loomed like ominous (and very good-smelling) clouds (of heavenly sugar cakes).

"Oh, sure, sorry." She quickly hopped off the stool, being careful to hold the skirt so it wouldn't snag. Myles wandered out of the kitchen, ducking under a few movers bringing in more boxes of gourmet food.

In the hallway, people trickled in, handing faux fur ladies' drapes and long cloaks to store in the coat closet. Myles met eyes with a familiar face, who gave a small wave.

"Hi, Claire," she greeted. "How're you doing?"

"Ah...good, I guess," Claire smiled, handing her long coat to Lucas-the-butler. She waved goodbye to her parents, who had joined a conversation with a group of mutual friends. "It's really nice to be here again," the youngest Cooley commented as they walked to the ballroom. She gazed up wide-eyed at the mahogany staircase winding around the chandelier and the many regal paintings along the walls. "It's _beautiful_," she laughed, pointing at a picture of a fat man riding a tiny horse.

"It's _ridiculous_," Myles corrected. "Imagine going downstairs at midnight for a snack and being followed by rows and rows of eyes."

Claire giggled. "I guess. My mom likes tapestries...I don't have this problem."

She was the daughter of a law firm manager, and her parents were always the first on the dance floor (she'd turn away in embarrassment each time). Claire had long chocolate hair wound and pinned up to the side of her head, bright mahogany eyes, and wore a conservative black dress to her knees. Even though she wasn't striking like Josie, she was still well-known around school as a sweet- albeit quiet- girl.

"How's your brother doing?"

Claire looked at the ground, where her heels left little dents in the rug. Claire's older brother, Trevor, had volunteered in the Peace Corps a year after Jeremiah. They weren't assigned to the same location, but she found that she could identify with Claire. Myles had noticed she missed her brother, like she missed Cal.

"He's okay," she finally said, quirking a smile. "Trevor really likes it over there. He writes a lot about Nepal. Like how the people, in the afternoons-"

Suddenly, Claire's eyes widened as big as saucers and her mouth made a little 'o'.

"What? What is it?" Myles asked, alarmed.

And then from behind her: "We're not catching flies," Keigo sniffed. "Meryl, who is this plebian who dares insult Ore-sama's presence?"

"Stop being such a scumbag," Myles turned to hiss at him.

"Ore-sama was merely voicing his very good opinion," he smirked.

"You're mean."

"You're _eloquent_."

"_Hello?_"

Myles cringed, Keigo smirked, and both swiveled to look at Claire. She passed a wide-eyed glance between them. "Am I...missing something?"

"Claire, this is Atobe Keigo, my...uh..."

Myles looked up at him as Keigo rolled his eyes, like, '_must I do everything?_'

"..._date_," they finished at the same time.

Then Keigo- who had conveniently lost any interest in everything besides his cuticles after passing verbal insults with Myles- had that bored look on his face again. "Ore-sama suggests we find refreshments," he drawled. "The populous can't be in awe of his prowess in this cramped hallway." Keigo put out his arm for her.

Myles glared at him and took it.

"Well, see you later!" she yelled a little too cheerfully at a very confused-looking Claire.

"Yeah, bye," Claire Cooley frowned, as her friend and _Atobe Keigo _disappeared down the hall.

Drama branched from the Robinson biannual soiree- everyone knew that. Maybe the young hostess would find it this year. And about time, as Victoria would laugh. That girl did nothing with her life.

_~xOx~_

It felt _so wrong_...but so far, the plan was going perfectly.

The many hopefuls seeking Keigo's attention were quickly dashed. No one would've guessed his date was with _Meryl Robinson_- the pretty, funny girl who'd given them all a hand up at least once before. Even though there was still a few brooding over it, the other females (not specifying an age, because Keigo was a _very _suitable bachelor, if you know what I mean...), had graciously accepted that fact. Because Myles was 'everyone's girl', the one who smuggled pastries from the kitchen so they wouldn't feel bad getting in line again, or let the singles entertain themselves in her bedroom because they just didn't like to party (unfortunately, Myles didn't have that option). And plus, it was like an unspoken rule that the hostess of a party should never be crossed.

But between the forced 'casual' laughter and planned 'coincidental' touches, Myles was slowly losing it. She treasured honesty and kindness, but this plan neither assured the truth nor well-being of others around her. There were hopefuls still crying in the corner, for God's sake, all sharing a platter of little pastries...

Not saying Myles gained a slight enjoyment watching friends and peers go wide-eyed seeing them together, but it just felt so _wrong. _

_This is the worst_, she thought miserably, putting on a grin and shaking hands with another couple from school.

"Well, Ore-sama must say he finds this...satisfactory," Keigo sniffed, sitting next to her in the chairs lined up at the sidelines.

Myles crossed her arms irritably. "This is surely _not _satisfactory. I mean, who're we even helping besides ourselves?"

Atobe rolled his eyes. "The honor of being in Ore-sama's prowess is reward enough for a scaremonger like you."

"I mean _them_."

He followed her nod to a group of a dozen girls, make-up running down their faces, taking turns dipping little silver spoons into a giant pan of crème brulee.

"Of no consequence," he sniffed. She glared at him, and Atobe rolled his eyes. "But Ore-sama _must _entertain his fans..."

She watched, immensely satisfied, when Keigo held out a hand, and Lucy-from-her-human geography-class took it. She sent wide hazel eyes Myles' way, to which she responded with a shoo sign.

And they danced.

It was funny.

And she couldn't help but think, _maybe Atobe Keigo isn't half bad._

"You smile much too often," he sniffed after letting Lucy go to dance with another (a-HEM less attractive- wait, what?) guy. "She stepped on my feet twice and caught flies like a cod. Not as well as you, perhaps, but Ore-sama finds this whole situation...amusing."

_Pop._

"Honestly, close your mouth."

* * *

**And that's all of it so far! Hope you enjoyed :) **


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